


Going My Way

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Aperitif, First Meetings, Fluff, Fondling, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rutting, Season/Series 01, Smut, but still hideously fluffy, slightly darker undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: What if, when Will and Hannibal had first met, Will had been in a slightly better mood? What if it had happened away from the stultifying atmosphere of Jack Crawford's office? Maybe somewhere Will could better appreciate the good looks and charm of everybody's favourite cannibal?Imagine, if you will, a sunny café terrace on a warm autumn morning, where Will Graham is grabbing breakfast ahead of a rather important meeting with his boss and some psychiatrist or other. He looks up and notices that someone is staring at him from a few tables away...





	Going My Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aviran007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviran007/gifts).



> Written in response to a delicious meet-cute challenge set by [Cinnamaldeide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/works) and [FhimeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FhimeChan/pseuds/FhimeChan). Thank you both for providing such a wonderful selection of prompts. I chose #74, the one in which A sketches B at an outdoor café, prompting B to confront A and ask them to stop staring...
> 
> Gifted to my dear friend [aviran007](https://aviran007.tumblr.com/), who after RDC5 treated me to an unforgettable day of fine dining (Hannibal-style) and Gillian Anderson (at the theatre)! You, my sweet, are sunshine and kittens personified and I love you to bits!

Mouth full of eggs, head full of Jack Crawford's latest horror show, it takes Will several minutes to realise that he’s being observed. 

Not just observed. Watched. _Stared_ at. 

_Goddammit. Is it too much to ask to be able to eat fucking breakfast in peace?_

It’s nine am on a mellow autumn morning. Dining alfresco at a high end Baltimore cafe. Another hour and he’ll be back in the thick of it. Jack’s growling insistence and the macabre puppet that was once Elise Nichols. An accusation in monochrome. And he’ll be back to feeling helpless all over again. 

Thirty minutes. That’s all he’d wanted. Thirty minutes with no one pestering. Or prodding. _Or staring. What the hell?_

Will jams his glasses more firmly onto the bridge of his nose and directs a frown at the man sitting three tables away. 

_Taupe. Harmless. Camouflage?_

Blinks away the last thought, impatient with his own paranoia. Takes another look. 

_Handsome. Monied. And still staring. Fuck!_

Ire up, Will sets down his fork and pushes back his chair. Harmless handsome is about to get an earful. 

There’s no sign of embarrassment on the stranger’s angular face as Will stalks across the sun-warmed terrace. Not a trace of discomfort. 

‘Excuse me,’ he raps out.

Heavy-lidded dark eyes make a slow assessment. Down and up again. 

‘May I help you?’

_Are you kidding?_

Will feels his cheeks heat with anger, while the gravelly-voiced stranger remains implacably calm. If anything, he seems almost amused. For a moment, their eyes meet, and Will’s stomach flips. His gaze slides quickly away.

‘Yes, actually,’ he informs the stranger’s left shoulder. ‘You can let me finish my damn breakfast without making me feel like I’m on show.’

‘I did not realise that I was being so indiscreet, Mr…’

There’s not a reason in the world for Will to finish that sentence. 

‘Graham. Will Graham.’

A pause, and a large hand is thrust out in front of him. 

‘A pleasure, Mr Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter.’

 _Hence the accent._

Manners instilled long ago by his Meemaw have him reaching out to accept the handshake. 

_Firm grip, buffed nails. Definitely a professional._

‘Not fond of eye contact, Mr Graham?’

Taken aback, Will jerks free. 

‘Not fond of leering strangers.’ 

Flushes at the outrageous exaggeration - thinking back, there was a certain objectivity in that dark gaze - but holds his ground. There’s comfort in being on the offensive.

‘I apologise if I appeared to leer. That was certainly not my intention.’

The man’s smooth tones are a perfect accompaniment to his elegant dress and cultured demeanour. At a guess, Will would say there’s probably only a decade between them, but he feels self-consciously gauche in his rumpled shirt. It begs the question…

‘What exactly was your intention?’

And then his eyes fall upon the sketchpad lying open on the table, and Will Graham shuts the hell up. 

‘Oh.’

Faces, lined and youthful. Animated and closed. A parade on paper. _And there_ I _am. Charcoaled curls, sweeping lashes. Eyes demurely downcast. Like a fucking fairytale prince._

Trouble is, Will likes it. Trouble is, Will likes _him_. 

With an effort, he finds his tongue again. 

‘You’re an artist?’

‘In my spare time.’ Hannibal Lecter indicates the seat opposite. ‘Would you care to join me?’

A fleeting thought that this isn’t exactly the way things were meant to go. But Will is reluctantly charmed. And it’s been a long time since he’s been charmed by anything that didn’t run on four legs.

So he grabs his plate and claims the empty seat. Tries not to see it as symbolic of anything. 

‘And in your _not_ spare time?’

He listens as he finishes his breakfast. Hardly notices that it’s stone cold. Too busy filing away information to pore over later. 

_Doctor of psychiatry. Baltimore resident. And reading between the lines, unattached._

As the deadline for his meeting with Jack comes and goes and then some, Will finds himself thinking up excuses to skip Quantico altogether. Especially when Hannibal starts relating a highly entertaining anecdote about a hunting trip and a slow-hopping rabbit. 

‘I hope it performed better on the plate,’ he chuckles, realising belatedly that he can’t remember when he last _smiled_ , let alone laughed. 

‘Of course.’ Hannibal leans forward, all engaging huskiness. ‘A little tenderising works wonders, even on the most obstinate of creatures.’

‘Hm. Perhaps I should try it on my boss. Speaking of which,’ and he sighs, straightening up. 

‘Duty calls.’

‘Yeah.’

He hesitates, reluctant to leave, unsure of his next move. Hell, he _has_ no moves. But. _But_. And the signals he’s getting from the smiling doctor suggest he’s not the only one feeling slightly stunned. Will is deliberating scribbling his number on a napkin when…

 _Duty_ calls? Not _work_? Of course, it could just be a language thing. And it’s such a subtle difference. But he’s rarely met anyone as subtle as this man. As perceptive. And they’re only just around the corner from the academy. _Goddammit, Jack._

Targets his companion with an icy glare. ‘You’re the psychiatrist Jack’s roped in to profile the Minnesota Shrike.’

A slight nod. ‘Yes.’

_He actually looks pleased that I’ve worked it out._

Will keeps his own expression stony. ‘And of course you know who _I_ am.’

Hannibal places one hand flat on the table, close to Will’s. A conciliatory gesture that does nothing to calm the roiling displeasure in Will’s gut.

‘I know who you are because you informed me yourself. That is not why I drew you, Will. Nor why I would like very much to draw you again.’ 

Hannibal’s tone makes it clear that he isn’t suggesting a professional sitting. Still, Will grinds his teeth. 

‘I don’t appreciate being lied to, even by omission. You should have told me we were headed to the same meeting.’

Somehow, though, their hands are closer. 

‘I’m sorry, Will.’ 

Silky softness reels him in, but he isn’t won yet.

‘For what?’ Directs a steely stare straight at the doctor. His new colleague. His new… ‘Lying or getting caught?’

‘Inadvertently spoiling a very pleasant interlude.’

His new… whatever… certainly _sounds_ sorry. Will regards him broodingly. 

‘If we’re going to be working together, pleasant interludes might not be the best idea.’

‘ _Might_ not?’ 

A wicked grin makes Hannibal Lecter appear charmingly youthful.

‘Damn.’ Will sighs. ‘If we’d met in Jack’s office, I swear I would have been able to resist you.’

 _At least for a while._

Their fingertips touch. 

‘Lucky for me, then, that we didn’t.’

They pay their bills and walk out together. Will is wholly unsurprised when Hannibal stops beside a gleaming Bentley. He watches as the sketchpad is stowed carefully and precisely in the back. And he finds himself once more the object of scrutiny as Hannibal stands with one hand on the frame of the open door. Only this time, it’s with an unquestionably _subjective_ eye.

‘Going my way?’

The soft tone and accompanying smile are clear invitation. 

‘It’s only around the corner,’ he hedges, but steps into Hannibal’s space anyway. A sweet earthy fragrance and the possessive curl of fingers at his nape draw a smile. ‘Yes.’

Firm, dry lips brush against his own. Sharing breath, then a slow sweep of tongues. Will melts into it, into _him_ , into firm muscle beneath soft suede and cashmere. And he’s vaguely embarrassed by his body’s enthusiastic reaction to being pressed so close. But when they part, colour is flush across aristocratic cheekbones as well. 

‘Perhaps we should -’

‘Yeah.’

***

To punish Jack, there’s no mention of this first meeting. Will enjoys acting out, playing pretend. Shivers secretly when he catches Hannibal’s eyes lingering on his body as he moves around the office. Though by the time he storms out, it’s amazing that Jack hasn’t caught on. Really, Hannibal Lecter is a dreadful actor. 

***

Will has vague ideas about turning up at Hannibal’s house with a bottle of wine. Cassie Boyle changes all that. Suddenly, rudely, he’s thrust back into Jack’s world of evil minds and field kabuki. A new killer with a flair for the dramatic. _Gift-wrapped. Gee, thanks._

No time now for anything but the job. Sinks into the necessary mindset and restless dreams of feathers and fur. 

Which is why he’s momentarily speechless when he opens his Minneapolis motel room door to a smiling Hannibal rather than his glowering boss. 

‘Good morning, Will. May I come in?’

Will blinks. ‘Where’s Crawford?’

‘Deposed in court.’ Hannibal looks unashamedly happy about that. ‘The adventure will be yours and mine today.’

Still in a daze, Will only realises that he hasn’t moved when Hannibal repeats his request to be allowed in. Will’s eyes flicker to the hold-all his guest is carrying. 

‘You’re staying?’

‘Jack has asked me to consult on the case.’ A smile crinkles the corners of Hannibal’s eyes. ‘I believe I have _you_ to thank for that.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Will stands aside, and as Hannibal steps into the room he becomes acutely aware of his state of partial undress. Briefly considers throwing on a robe, but that would draw even more attention to his thin t-shirt and boxers. Looks around half-heartedly for his pants. ‘Not sure you’ll be thanking me by the time we’ve waded through our twelfth construction site, though.’

‘Then we had better fortify ourselves for the task ahead.’ 

Will stills, watching in bemusement as Hannibal delves into the hold-all and lays out various tupperware containers and a tall flask on the little table underneath the window.

‘You brought breakfast?’

‘I’m very careful about what I put into my body. Which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage.’

Will looks from the food back to the man whose coaxing smile is making mush of his insides. Shirt unbuttoned at the throat, beige sweater and pants, rust-coloured coat. Eyes the colour of burnt caramel. Lips in a teasing, natural pout. 

_A wolf in academic’s clothing. So easy to miss._

Lucky he was paying attention, that first morning. And now...

‘Looks delicious. Thank you.’ 

The blatant _want_ in his voice would embarrass him, except that Hannibal is looking back at him with hunger now burning undisguised. And it’s such a _rush_.

‘My pleasure.’

Will’s breath catches at the raw note. Steps forward and buries his face in Hannibal’s shoulder. 

‘Shit, I’m no good at this. I’m sorry. I’ve never -’

Arms come up to encircle him. Tentative. Tender.

‘I confess, I hadn’t anticipated this turn of events either.’

Raises his head, smiling wryly. ‘Today or -’

‘Any of it. You have quite confounded me, Will Graham.’

Slides his arms around Hannibal’s waist, beneath the coat. He’s warm and solid and he smells so damn good. 

‘Then let’s be confounded together.’

Before his nerve fails, Will tilts his head and presses his lips to Hannibal’s. Groans when Hannibal immediately opens to him. They shuffle backwards to the bed, kissing languidly, and by the time Will’s pressed back into the mattress, they’ve managed between them to discard Hannibal’s coat and sweater. Will’s got one hand searching for the zipper of Hannibal’s pants while the other is clenched in fallen strands of wheat-coloured hair. Hannibal bites gently against Will’s arched throat, hands delving beneath the ridden-up t-shirt, and Will gasps, cock swelling, when he feels thumbs rubbing his nipples. He presses his palm to the hard length encased in boxers.

‘I want - I want to feel you. Against me.’ 

Wants to say _in me_ , but he has nothing that would allow for such an eventuality. And given the suddenness of all this, the clutching desperation, he’s willing to bet Hannibal hasn’t come prepared either. Thought evaporates when a large hand covers his, encouragement enough for him to slip trembling fingertips through the silk slit already damp with pre-come. And as he eases Hannibal’s cock free, Hannibal does the same for him. Will looks down between them, and the sight of their flushed, erect cocks rubbing together pulls a moan from him. Hannibal reaches beneath him to cup his ass, and as they grind against each other, they exchange ever more frantic and sloppy kisses. Soon they’re panting into each other’s mouths and jerking each other off, and it’s awkward and uncoordinated and _fucking perfect_. When Will comes, shuddering and sweaty, it’s with forehead pressed to Hannibal’s and eyes tightly shut. Wet warmth pulses across his abdomen and he thrills in Hannibal’s juddering breaths of release. 

‘That was... unexpected.’ 

A shaky laugh. ‘Yeah.’

Warm lips caress his forehead. ‘But most welcome.’

He strokes Hannibal’s back, over the shirt now crumpled and damp and ruined, a grin twitching the corners of his mouth. ‘Good to hear.’ 

They shift to lie side by side, heads on the same pillow, gazes meshed. 

‘I would apologise for my ambush.’ That irresistible teasing light is back. ‘But I know I will soon be apologising again.’

‘Oh, you will?’

A kiss is planted at the corner of his mouth.

‘Mm hm. And you’ll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.’

Will shoots him a coy look through veiled lashes. 

‘We could just keep it professional.’

‘An interesting idea, though a little late, wouldn’t you say?’

Given that Hannibal’s thigh is currently insinuating itself between Will’s legs, it’s clear that the doctor isn’t entertaining the notion for an instant. And that’s just fine.

‘I guess all that’s left is for us to socialise like adults.’

A deep-throated chuckle from the man now kissing his way down Will’s throat. ‘God forbid.’

‘A middle way, then.’ Drawing his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, arousal stirring anew.

‘I have no doubt we shall find our _own_ way.’

Hannibal’s mouth on his body puts an end to further discussion, and when that clever tongue works his cock to flush, pulsing orgasm, Will comes with a breathless gasp and a heart that’s ridiculously full. 

***

‘What are you smiling about?’ Unbuckling his seatbelt, Will tosses his companion a wryly questioning look.

‘You have promised that I may draw you tonight. And in the meantime, I get to peek behind the curtain of the FBI. My cup is full.’

_Finest china, no doubt._

‘That promise was extracted under entirely unfair duress.’ But Will’s blush belies the sternness of his tone. 

‘Forgive me, Will.’ Hannibal leans across the divide; and for a heart-hammering moment, Will thinks he’s going to be kissed in full view of a dozen workers. But Hannibal stops a whisper away, to murmur against Will’s cheek, ‘It has been a week of surprises. I find myself more than willing to adjust to this new course, but I admit it has made me a little giddy.’

‘Well, I’m not exactly known for being the hearts and flowers type.’ Will smiles at him crookedly. ‘The best laid plans, huh?’

‘We shall just have to adapt.’

Hannibal reaches for his hand, and automatically Will laces their fingers together.

‘Evolve?’

‘Become something perhaps neither of us expected.’ 

The dozen workers are still there, a few of them now casting curious glances at the rental car and its occupants, who sit so very close together. _Fuck it. It’s not every day you realise you’ve fallen hopelessly in love._ Will shifts his grip until they’re palm to palm. With his free hand, he brushes his thumb softly across the sharp contours of Hannibal’s cheek. Learning him. Hoarding details, as he has been doing since the morning they met over charcoal and eggs. 

‘Looking forward to it.’ 

To distract from the huskiness of his voice, Will leans in and claims a kiss. Terrifying how quickly it deepens, tender and lingering. Terrifying how _natural_ it feels, mouths already familiar with the contours of the other, lips pressing and parting in perfect synchronicity, tongues stroking together in a hunger that feels insatiable. _We fell into this so quickly._ Thinks unaccountably of Nietzsche. He pulls back and gazes into dark eyes that reflect his own turmoil. But also, hope. And a vast spill of affection that tells him more eloquently than words that he’s not the only one here who’s fallen hard. He smiles and tugs his hand free.

‘Come on. We’d better get started on this _adventure_ of ours.’

And quick as Lucifer, Hannibal counters, smiling, ‘We already did.’

For a moment, Will is consumed by the oddest feeling. Like they’ve done this before. Like destinies shifting. _That which does not kill us..._

He grins at his own whimsy and steals another kiss.


End file.
